


silver snows and golden sands

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: ASoIaF / Game of Thrones fics [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst and Smut, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Face-Sitting, Femslash, Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Fanfiction, Oneshot, Smut, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22031899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: There is a room in the Red Keep where the walls are made of silver and the ceiling made of gold. Queen Lyanna Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell make use of the room when the homesickness is more acute than usual.Set in Netgirl_y2k’s “Had A Dream I Was The Queen (woke up, still the queen)”, where Rhaegar married Lyanna first and ran away with Elia. AU, oneshot.
Relationships: Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark
Series: ASoIaF / Game of Thrones fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586470
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	silver snows and golden sands

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Had A Dream I Was The Queen (woke up, still the queen)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8581030) by [Netgirl_y2k](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/pseuds/Netgirl_y2k). 



> I owe this fic’s inspiration to two sources: Netgirl_y2k’s fic, and [this post of prompts](https://disha-chowdhury.tumblr.com/post/189898710255/hello-everyone-2019-is-nearly-over-and-2020-is) by @disha-chowdhury on Tumblr. 
> 
> This fic is my first time writing femslash smut.

The walls are made of silver and the ceiling is made of gold. 

It is as opulent as any other room in the Red Keep, but unlike the rest of the palace, which is festooned with Targaryen trappings, this chamber always reminds Lyanna of her Northern snows and Elia of her Dornish sands. No one enters it very often, but on days like today, when Lyanna longs for the sharp conifer chill more keenly than usual, she is glad of this room.

She had been distracted and on edge all day, even snapping at one or two people who certainly did not deserve it. The intensity of her homesickness had shamed Lyanna a little: that no matter how long she has been a Targaryen queen, her heart rebelliously remains that of a Northwoman. 

She should never have felt sheepish or embarrassed; Elia had perceived the true cause of her ire, had recognized it and drawn Lyanna away to this chamber, where now they are both on the bed.

Today Elia’s bones trouble her little, and she is able to lie on her back. Lyanna perches on the edge of the bed, creasing and crumpling the folds of her skirt. Elia’s hands encircle her waist and guide her to kneel over her. Lyanna obeys, leaning back on her haunches so that she does not burden the princess with her weight.

Elia urges her further, and Lyanna inches up her body until her knees are wedged under Elia’s shoulders. She begins pushing Lyanna’s skirts up, and with a start, Lyanna realizes what scheme her paramour has in mind.

Elia swipes her tongue in a long, lingering lick that sends bolts of pleasure up and down Lyanna’s spine and has her shifting from knee to knee, trying to keep her balance. Elia grasps her hands around Lyanna’s hips more firmly, and her tongue darts again, by turns thick and flat against Lyanna’s most sensitive place. Breathy little pants begin escaping Lyanna in time with each flick.

She presses a palm against her mouth to stifle them, out of instinctual modesty, but Elia blindly reaches up and swats her hand away, somehow managing to never waver in her rhythm. The pants become moans as the pleasure mounts inside her, and Lyanna has to actively keep herself from _thrusting_ against Elia’s face. It feels shameful and shameless, what they’re doing, sinful and dirty and so, so _good_ _,_ and she never wants it to stop. 

Lyanna braces two hands against the silver wall to steady herself, as Elia’s tongue and lips begin working faster. She can feel the blood rushing in her face and in her veins. The pleasure builds and builds, until finally it crests and Lyanna lets out a sharp cry. She can barely continue kneeling on shaky limbs, and she has just enough presence of mind to clamber off of Elia before collapsing onto the bed beside her.

She curls into her paramour, burying her face into her shoulder, and Elia strokes her cheek with a single finger. Lyanna closes her eyes suddenly, overwhelmed, and she thinks she can never properly articulate what the Dornish princess has done for her. So she burrows further into Elia’s embrace, hoping she can understand. 

She opens her eyes again. Argentate and aureate the room around her is, a world away from their pearly hoarfrost and red-banded sandstone. It is in this room alone, in these moments with Elia only -- not the brief months she spent with Rhaegar nor the years she has commanded a court -- that Lyanna truly feels like a queen.


End file.
